


Crimson Torment

by starstruck1986



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-29
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 23:46:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2044746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstruck1986/pseuds/starstruck1986
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remus smells it long before he sees it, but the result is no less painful.</p><p>Warnings: Self-harm, suicide attempt, angst, language.</p><p>Written for HP Mental Health Fest 2014 on Livejournal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crimson Torment

**Crimson Torment**  
  
Remus fought not to choke as the whiff of tangy copper coiled through his nostrils again. Over the years he had learned to cope with the heightened senses which had come with his bite and monthly hairy little problem, but blood he always struggled with. Maybe it was because his wolf form enjoyed blood so much that it drove him as mad as it did.  
  
What was puzzling him, however, was that nobody in the room should have smelt like blood. There was red meat on the large kitchen table of Grimmauld Place, but Molly was in charge and therefore it was borderline cremated. He was confident it wasn't the food but that only flung the mystery's net wider.  
  
He took a large swig of water and swilled it around his teeth. He wanted to think that he was imagining it, but he'd been smelling the blood at different strengths and at different times ever since the Weasley family had landed - brawling, swearing and laughing - at the Order's Headquarters. Remus loved their presence in the miserable, rotting building. It breathed life and joy into the walls which, as far as he knew, had _never_ been present within. Sirius had certainly never spoken of any true happiness in his childhood home. The redheaded clan were a pleasant breath of fresh air and whilst Sirius muttered about them like the embittered, slightly mad man he had become, Remus was grateful they were there. It had been so desperately lonely, just the two of them, sitting quietly each evening and avoiding talking to one another.  
  
“Tuck in,” Molly called to him, noticing that he hadn't touched his plate. Half of her boys were nearly already finished. “Stop thinking so hard and eat.” She smiled in her motherly way at him.  
“I've been telling him that for most of his life,” Sirius muttered under his breath, the wry grin which seemed to be all he could manage since his release from prison twisting his lips.  
“I never really listened,” Remus pointed out.  
  
To appease both of them, he picked up his cutlery and began to eat, whilst the scent of blood tingled in his nose.  
  
***  
A week later, Remus was still none-the-wiser as to why he could smell blood. He'd even gone as far as to make the distinction between what he was smelling and the menstrual outputs he had known in the past. Though it made him queasy, it was definitely different. He was fairly sure that it was coming from a male. He was no closer to deciphering which one, however. He wasn't even really sure he cared that much, except for the fact that it was driving him mad. He had started to watch each Weasley man and boy with a careful eye, trying to search for any signs. He was beginning to think that perhaps it was just an unfortunate natural scent of one of them and he would have to simply get used to it. They would be there for the entire summer and perhaps beyond. Dumbledore had called Remus off all missions for the time being and told him to stay put.  
  
Sighing, he closed the book he wasn't reading and rested it upon the arm of the chair. It was late and around him the house had finally quietened down, only leaving the odd creak from the walls and the distant London traffic beyond them. His glass of wine was empty and, he supposed, that was a perfect cue to go to bed. He was the last one up so he drifted, extinguishing candles where he found them alight and tiptoed past Sirius' mother to check that the front door was properly secured. When there was really nothing else to do but ascend the stairs, he gave in and did so, treading quietly so as to make no noise. It was something he had done since he was a child, to try and move silently - almost as if he was not there. It was borne of a desire not to disturb his parents as he wandered their small house with his body aching and emotions racing. He had no idea why he still did it at thirty-five, but it was quite helpful at times.  
  
He continued up through the house. He had chosen a room on the second floor because he liked the view across the treetops in the square out into London and the bed was particularly good for his sore back. It also meant that, with most of the Weasleys on the first floor, he had easy access to a bathroom without having to wait.  
  
It was there that he headed, feeling his late night wine working its way south. He tried to turn the handle and rattled it when the knob wouldn't turn. He tried again.  
  
“Someone's in here.” The call was terse and Remus listened hard.  
“Ron, is that you?”  
  
The toilet flushed, a tap turned on and off and the the door unlocked, revealing the youngest Weasley boy still fully dressed in the jeans and jumper that Remus had last seen him in at dinner. Though never tidy, his hair certainly hadn't been slept on, despite the fact that it was nearly two in the morning.  
  
“You're up late,” Remus said.  
“Yeah... I can't sleep.”  
“That generally happens when you try to sleep fully clothed,” he pointed out.  
“Oh.” Ron's face flushed red. “Yeah, I s'pose.”  
  
“How are you finding it here?” Remus asked, folding his arms across his chest and leaning against the door frame. “Not too boring, I hope?”  
“Mum doesn't give me any bloody time to be bored,” Ron grumped, rolling his eyes. “I think she takes the state of this place personally.”  
“Someone should care about it. Sirius certainly doesn't.”  
  
Ron hummed in agreement and shifted with the awkwardness which befitted a teenager caught chatting to a middle-aged man he didn't really know in the middle of the night.  
  
“I'll let you get to bed then,” Remus said. He straightened and stood back for Ron to pass him.  
  
When he did, the source of the bloody miasma became immediately apparent. It heightened as Ron drew level with him. Remus proceeded into the bathroom and closed the door. He inhaled. With no dilution of the air, the room stank of copper and iron and everything else that normal noses couldn't smell. He checked the sink, the bath and even the toilet bowl for the red liquid but found nothing.  
  
Confused, he began to ready himself for bed.  
  
***  
  
Remus had little time to think more on it once he had discovered the source of the smell. Dumbledore had asked him to visit a small group of Werewolves hiding in an old Vampire haunt in the New Forest. They were trying to exist without attaching to one of the larger packs, which made them more likely to listen to Dumbledore's message. Remus had imparted it and left feeling fairly confident that he might have made a good impression. It had felt good to be doing something other than hiding in the dirt, hoping to eavesdrop on the right conversation.  
  
The first thing he'd done on his return was to have a long bath to wash the dirt off and make himself smell acceptable again. Sirius had treated the wounds he had sustained during his transformation under the moon whilst he was away. Remus had slept for hours and had only just resurfaced; he was on his way to the kitchen, hunting for sustenance. He knew there was a meeting booked for that evening and he would have to provide feedback. Molly always cooked a feast on meeting nights so he only needed something small and preferably sweet. He eased down the few steps into the basement kitchen on a sore knee and found he was not alone.  
  
“You're back.” Ron looked up at him from where he was standing by the sink. “Are you okay?”  
  
There was something sullen in his voice which explained why, as he and his brothers usually did, Ron wasn't pushing for information about Remus' mission. Remus sidled to the table and sat down at it so they could talk.  
  
“I've had much worse. No, it was good.”  
“Good.” Ron forced a smile and nodded at him, before turning back to the sinkful of washing up he was doing by hand.  
“What did you do to deserve punishment by washing up?” Remus teased.  
“Made the mistake of rising to the fight Fred picked with me.” Ron shrugged.  
  
Remus noticed that his long sleeves weren't pushed up and were sopping wet at the wrists. Ron suddenly hissed and, thinking that the boy had only just noticed he was drenching himself, Remus sprang forward and gently pulled back one sleeve, trying to be helpful.  
  
He would have had to have been blind to miss the cuts on Ron's pale, freckled forearm. He must have made a sound of dismay because Ron suddenly jerked back into life, dropping the plate he held with a clatter and jerking away. He pulled his wet sleeve down over his arm again and looked up with hurt, accusing eyes.  
  
“Ron-” Remus held his hands up, trying to get his brain in gear to say the right thing and not chase the teenager away.  
“If you tell _anyone_...” It was a weak threat delivered by a trembling voice.  
  
Remus shook his head; Ron turned and fled the kitchen. With the scent of the blood explained, he suddenly found himself crippled with worry. He had been smelling blood since the family had moved in, which was a good few weeks. That meant that Ron had been regularly cutting himself for the scent to have been consistently so fresh.  
  
His first thought was to rush and find Molly and to tell her what he had seen. But as he dried his hands on a tea towel, he thought of her reaction and Ron's potential mortification. No. He could not tell Molly or perhaps any of the family, not until he had properly talked to Ron. Remus remembered all too well how it felt to be found out, to be terrified of the reaction of those that you loved.  
  
Feeling sick, and despite the fact he had just dried his hands, Remus turned his attention to completing the washing up which Ron had left.  
  
***  
  
“You're not sleeping,” Sirius commented tonelessly, pouring himself some pumpkin juice.  
“Well that's hardly news, is it?”  
“I have some sleeping draught if you need it?” Molly offered from the stove, where she stood supervising the cooking of a mass breakfast.  
  
They had several visitors staying following a meeting, plus Bill had permanently returned to England. Hermione Granger had also joined them which, Remus thought, at least provided a little favourable company for Ron.  
  
He had tried to talk to Ron many times since his discovery, but there had always been interruptions and Ron had become skilled in removing himself from any room that Remus entered.  
  
“I personally think you should go back to bed,” Sirius advised, making a face. “Not like there's anything else going on here, is there? I might do the same myself.”  
“You said you'd help me in the front parlour today,” Molly reminded him.  
  
Remus tried not to laugh at the pained look on his best friend's face. He finished the rest of his juice and got up, looking forward to the sleep which had evaded him during the night.  
  
***  
  
When Remus surfaced next, the room was pitch black. He tried to sit up and moaned aloud as pain claimed him. His healing from the last moon was not going well and the next seemed to be creeping nearer and nearer without having had any respite. He knew from the crick in his neck that he hadn't moved for hours.  
  
With great effort he managed to get his legs over the side of the bed, and after several deep breaths struggled to standing. His bladder immediately began to communicate fullness and he walked blindly across the room, unable to glean the time through his bleary vision. He banged into the door frame on his way out onto the landing and sobbed dryly under his breath. After the toilet, his next stop would be a medicine cabinet for pain relief and a sleeping draught. His years of practice had taught him that falling asleep was the only real way of resting his body efficiently.  
  
He made his way to the toilet by groping along the wall, hoping that he didn't encounter anything alive scuttling over the old, peeling paper. He was forced to stop twice and bent double, fighting off pain induced nausea. By the time he made it to the right door he was dripping with sweat. He fumbled with the knob and twisted it, but as he tried to enter the door thudded into something. Some _one_ moaned.  
  
Remus squeezed into the room, the sudden intense scent of blood making him feel even more nauseous. There was no light in the room and he could see nothing. He had left his wand in the bedroom. Forcing himself to concentrate, he managed to conjure just enough magic to light only two of the candles in the room. He knew there were more but he was drained enough. As the candles caught and brightened, he squinted, trying to help his eyes adjust.  
  
When they did, he almost wished they hadn't. The smell of blood was immediately explained as he looked down at the floor. The tiles, once white, were specked with crimson and in some places it had pooled. More places than was safe.  
  
As it turned out and to his horror, it had been Ron's legs that the door had hit on his way in. The redhead was leaning back against the grimy, disused bathtub, his body limp. Remus held his breath whilst searching for signs of life. Ron's eyelids fluttered in the candlelight, clearly irritated by the sudden brightness, however dim it was.  
  
Without care for his own aches, Remus dropped to his knees and touched Ron's thigh.  
  
“Ron. It's Remus. Can you hear me?”  
  
The swear word was rough and weak-sounding. Ron tried to move his legs away from Remus' touch but clearly didn't have the strength.  
  
“Ron. This is important. Have you taken anything – drunk anything, perhaps?”  
  
Another moan came but it was neither a confirmation nor a denial. Remus squinted again and his insides went cold looking at the size of the cuts on each of the boy's wrists. Looking more closely, the legs of Ron's jeans were completely sodden with blood.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a wand having rolled against the wall. He reached for it and prayed that it would accept him and his magic. From Ron's garbled communication, he had been there too long.  
  
He lit the rest of the candles and waited until the tiny bathroom flooded with orange light. In it Ron looked even paler than Remus had feared and he knew that he had to move quickly. As swiftly as his body would allow, he got to his feet and opened the medicine cabinet above the sink. The bottles were old and the labels faded, but he knew what he was looking for - the standard wound cleansing potion that all magical families worth their salt kept in good supply.  
  
 _This is the Blacks you're talking about. Probably used to let their boys bleed as a lesson._  
  
Despite his misgivings, Remus' fingers closed around the bottle he needed after only a few seconds of looking. It was probably out of date but that didn't matter – he highly doubted that Ron would complain about that. He grabbed the end of the toilet roll and dragged it over to Ron before easing back down onto his knees. He used the paper to blot away excess blood before unscrewing the bottle top.  
  
“Ron, this is going to sting like hell,” he said loudly, hoping that he was getting through. “But I need to do it.”  
  
Without waiting for a response he tilted the bottle, allowing the liquid to seep over what Remus could now see was a collection of cuts. Some of them ran vertically along the veins nearest the artery. It was clear that the gashes were made with one intent alone, and there had been no accident that night. When he had cleaned the wounds on the other wrist, Remus picked up Ron's wand again and gripped it tightly. Ron made no sound other than muted, pained grunts as the liquid cleaned his torn flesh. Concentrating hard, Remus swiped his wand over the skin, muttering the incantation beneath his breath to knit the cuts back together.  
  
Without his own wand and with being so shaken by the whole thing, his healing was below par. It was apparent even in the candlelight. But he hoped it would be enough.  
  
He sat back on his heels and watched the shallow rise and fall of Ron's chest. At that moment, the smell of the blood and the reality of just what he had found slammed into him. He didn't know what was the most upsetting – Ron's young age, his hidden misery, the fact that if Remus had slept perhaps only minutes more then there would be no life left in the fifteen-year-old's body. Or perhaps it was his own experiences with the emotions that the boy was feeling which made the scene so hard to bear. When he thought about it, they weren't even too far apart in age during the first severe onset.  
  
The memories made him suddenly cold and shivery. Remus blinked fast and wondered what he should do. Again, his first thought was to rouse Molly and Arthur from sleep, but he doubted that Ron would want that. Ron hadn't wanted to live. The last thing he would want would be to answer questions about why.  
  
Decided, Remus got to his feet and, as quickly as possible, relieved himself. He washed his hands and dried them on his pyjamas. He bent for Ron's wand and charmed the young man airborne. He replaced the bottle in the cabinet, then stuffed the bloodied toilet paper in the loo and flushed. He used his wand to vanish the blood. He had no other means of cleaning it other than to get down on his hands and knees, but his joints wouldn't allow any more time on the cold floor. He opened the door and directed Ron out, extinguished the candles and then locked the door shut with every obscure spell he could think of.  
  
***  
Remus jerked out of the half-sleep he had fallen into, sitting on the side of the bed. He looked around for what had woken him and found his charge awake. Ron was slumped against the headboard, looking horrified.  
  
“Here.” Remus reached for the glass of water on the bedside table. “I had to give you the blood replenisher whilst you were out. It leaves a nasty taste. This'll help.”  
  
Ron accepted the water with a shaking hand and slopped a fair amount down his chin as he drank. Remus winced looking at the poor job he'd made of mending the cuts. He took the glass back from and set it down. He suddenly found himself without words, with nothing to say or even an idea of how to broach what had happened with Ron.  
  
“You weren't meant to find me.” The broken tone would have shattered the heart of a stronger man than Remus. “I wanted to die.”  
“I know you did,” Remus replied. He put a hand on Ron's knee. “But I couldn't let you.”  
  
Anger and pain marred Ron's expression and he set his jaw.  
  
“I'm sorry, I know it's not what you wanted.” Remus felt compelled to continue. “But one day you might feel differently... and be glad.”  
“Doubt it.”  
“Well...” Remus hesitated, unsure of whether his own experience would be welcomed. He wondered whether Ron might feel patronised. “When I sat where you are, I certainly felt different to how I felt a few months afterwards.”  
  
Ron didn't respond. He simply said nothing and stared a blank stare.  
  
“Do you mind telling me how long this has been going on for?” Remus gestured to the fresh cuts and the healing scars.  
“Since Christmas.”  
“And... do you... are you...”  
  
Remus stopped. He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling completely inadequate.  
  
“Would you like me to go and wake up someone else?” he asked, at a loss.  
“No!” Ron's protest was the most energetic thing he'd said or done. He vehemently shook his head. “If you do...”  
“You'll what?”  
  
Something in his chest ached when Ron responded by dissolving into tears. His face was hidden in long, freckled fingers and his shoulders began to shake. Remus found he could only watch it for a few moments before he had to act. He moved to the head of the bed and slid his arms around the shaking teenager. He had expected rejection and was therefore surprised when Ron seemed to lean into him, let out a shaky breath, and began to howl into his shoulder.  
  
Fighting the moisture which sprang into his own eyes, Remus held on tight and stayed put. He managed a few choked whispers but then found he had to shut up if he wanted to remain any sort of support for Ron. Desperate fingers had fisted in the front of his top, trapping some of the hairs on his chest. Remus ignored the pain.  
  
The sobs slowly began to fizzle out, but Ron remained close and was still shaking enough to make Remus shake with him.  
  
“If you want to talk, we can,” Remus assured him. “If you want to say... anything, about anything, I'm here. And you have my complete confidence.”  
“Yeah right.” Ron pulled back and wiped his eyes. It didn't do much good. He seemed beyond reeling it all back in and composing himself. “You're just going to wait and tell my parents behind my back.”  
  
Remus waited for the tears to ease off slightly before he spoke again. “If I were to go to your parents, it would be with you by my side, Ron.” He ran his fingers back through his hair. “I promise you. I won't tell a soul without your permission.”  
“Why?” Ron asked, almost angrily.  
“Because I want you to feel safe and like you can confide in me... you clearly need to talk to someone about your problems. And I'm perfectly willing.”  
“I don't need to talk to anyone,” Ron denied. “I need to die.”  
  
Remus closed his eyes and said nothing. The pain and desperation loomed over him, threatening to claim and conquer.  
  
“Remus?”  
  
He hummed in assent.  
  
“Do you think that... that some people are just unlovable?”  
“The only people who are truly unlovable are those who do not want to be loved. You can love someone against their will but it will never be rich enough to touch them whilst they openly reject it. Why?”  
“I just... I feel that way, sometimes.”  
“Why on _earth_ would you feel that way, Ron?”  
“Because nobody even likes me, let alone loves me.”  
  
The despondency was heartbreaking. Remus watched as Ron's head drooped and the boy ran a finger tip over the badly healed cut on his wrist.  
  
“Where've you got that idea from, hmm?” Remus put a hand on his arm. “Two years ago I saw a boy at Hogwarts who was well-liked by his class, who made people laugh and who was never without company.”  
“I fucked it up.” Ron's expression became bitter. “I messed up and now Harry won't forgive me... and Hermione...”  
“What?”  
“Now she's been with an international Quidditch player she won't want me. I don't want me. Nobody does.”  
“I thought you and Harry had made things up?” Remus fought hard to remember the details.  
“Not enough,” Ron whispered.  
  
“So... is that why you did it?” Remus asked quietly. “You despise yourself that much?”  
  
Ron nodded before falling apart again. Remus let the redhead come to him that time, which he did, still trembling and becoming increasingly cold. Remus reached down and pulled the bed covers up around Ron's shoulders.  
  
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Ron asked quietly, pulling at the coverlet so it was tight to his body.  
“No.”  
“You were better off,” Ron advised sadly. He shook his head. “Maybe it would have been different with just one or two... but when you have six, it's like... there's nothing new that you can do or be. Someone's already done it first.”  
“It's not a competition,” Remus offered softly. As soon as the words left his mouth they felt inadequate and trite.  
“Everyone says that, what they're really thinking is different though. Why aren't I as clever as them, why aren't my marks as good, why aren't I better looking... my Aunt Muriel asks me that every time I go round to hers.”  
“I've not heard particularly complimentary things about your Aunt Muriel... it doesn't seem like she likes anybody much.”  
“She likes Bill. And Charlie. And Percy. Even the twins get a bigger smile than I do. Like I'm the fucking runt of the litter.” Tears threatened to spill over again and Ron sniffed.  
  
“And is that how you feel?” Remus pressed on carefully. “As you said, 'the runt of the litter?'”  
“What else am I?” Ron laughed bitterly. “I'm not good at anything, I'm ugly... I'll never be anything. Nobody cares about me.”  
“I know that you won't take any comfort in this at the moment, but people _do_ care about you, Ron. I know they do. I see it in their eyes and their faces and the way they are around you. Your brothers would go spare if anything happened to you. They'd have gone spare at finding you in that bathroom.”  
  
Ron didn't verbally disagree, but shook his head and stared glumly at the faded pattern of the room's wallpaper.  
  
“What does it feel like?” Remus asked, shifting his aching back to sit more fully on the bed. “Your depression... how does it hurt you?”  
  
There was no answer for a long time, and Remus was about to give in just as Ron eventually spoke. “Like... darkness. It makes me feel dark. Everywhere. Like there's light but it's not touching me. And happiness doesn't get in and I can't make happiness.”  
“Mine was very much a numbness,” Remus remembered aloud. “It made me dizzy, and my limbs felt like they were stuffed with cotton wool. I felt as if I was made of nothing.”  
“Sometimes I feel numb. Sometimes I feel like there's so much going on in my head that I want to cut it open to get it to stop.”  
  
Ron shook his head irritably then, as if those thoughts were present at that very moment.  
  
“I've thought about it,” he added. “Because it just feels like it'll all go away then... like you can let the bad thoughts and feelings out.”  
“Is that sort of what you were trying to do tonight?” Remus wondered.  
“No. Tonight I was trying to die. Because that would stop it. It would stop everything.”  
“And it would stop you living the happy life that you deserve, and that you're going to have, Ron.”  
“Fat chance when You-Know-Who is knocking around, threatening to kill everyone.”  
“We will beat him. We did it last time and we can do it again – this time, we'll do it properly.”  
  
Saying nothing, Ron closed his eyes. Suddenly he looked so very young, a fifteen-year-old boy with almost translucently pale skin and lilac-exhaustion bruises around his eyes.  
  
“You must be tired.” Remus stifled a yawn of his own. He was going to pay for his sleepless night. “Try to rest now.”  
  
A look came over Ron's expression which caused Remus' heart to skip a beat: fear.  
  
“Don't leave me?” Ron implored, his eyes wide.  
“I won't,” Remus assured him.  
  
***  
  
When Remus came to again, there was sunlight shining through the dirty windows of his room. He knew immediately that he was alone. Ron's sweet, slightly spicy scent was absent from his nostrils and so, Remus was momentarily relieved to realise, was the smell of blood. It took his sluggish mind a few moments to piece it all together – to remember what horrors the night hours had given him.  
  
His left knee locked as he propelled himself across the room. He felt shredded by the guilt building in his stomach. He had fallen asleep. What if Ron had merely left to try and end his life all over again, and Remus has not been there to stop him or, worse, save him? He lurched out onto the landing and tried to sharpen his mind, to remember where Ron's room was. In the end he had to follow his nose, to search out the lingering traces in the air. The stairs were hell on his muscles and forced him to move more slowly than he wanted.  
  
The light filtering through ragged curtains and dusty panes was weak. The house was still enough that it seemed to be only just after dawn, and perhaps he might be reprieved for his tiredness. Finding the right door was not a challenge. The scent of blood grew stronger as he neared Ron's room, but it was old and drying. Not fresh like that which had overwhelmed him in the bathroom.  
  
He tested the doorknob without knocking. It surprised him that the door opened without resistance. Perhaps Ron did not expect anybody so early in the morning. Perhaps he wasn't there.  
  
Remus steeled himself for another gory scene as the room was revealed to him, but found none. Ron was sitting on his bed, staring dazedly at the worn carpet. Remus quickly closed the door, locked it behind him, and crossed the room to sit next to the boy. The room was dusty and the only splashes were the hastily tacked up Chudley Cannons posters and an old, patchwork woollen blanket atop Ron's mattress.  
  
“Forgive me,” Remus said, his voice catching and croaking out of this throat. “I should not have fallen asleep.”  
“You'd been awake for ages.” Ron's voice was frighteningly flat in tone. “And then you drifted off... you looked so tired. I didn't want to wake you up. And you looked worried.”  
“Worried about you.” Remus nudged Ron gently with his shoulder.  
“Don't.” Steel crept into Ron's tone and it did not suit his age. “Don't worry about me. Don't even _think_ about me.”  
“Ron...” Remus sighed and stretched his legs out in front of them. The muscles screamed and he groaned under his breath. “I _will_ worry about you. I care about you, whether you want to believe so or not. I have been where you sit, and I know how desperately low you feel, how lonely you are... how it feels like all warmth has left you, and that you will never feel joy again.”  
  
Something in his words unnerved Ron, who shifted and turned his face away.  
  
“Don't be ashamed of what you feel. Though I do know... I was ashamed for many years. Sometimes I still can be.”  
“How do you deal with it?”  
“Not very well much of the time. I have given up before, as you gave up. Like you, I was found. Cared for. Nurtured back to a sense of relative humanity... though I wasn't human, and that was rather the whole point.”  
“Don't,” Ron ground out. “Don't sit there and remind me that I've got no reason to be like this, that people have it worse. I know I should just pull my head out of my arse. It just makes it worse.”  
“No, Ron, no – that's not what I'm saying. I will shut up about my own experience if it makes you feel like your problems aren't justified. I just wanted to...”  
“To what?” Ron turned to look at him with blotchy cheeks and wet eyes.  
“Let you know that you aren't alone.”  
  
Remus reached out and covered one of Ron's wrists with his hand. He was surprised when Ron leant into him as he had done earlier that morning.  
  
“Please don't tell anyone.”  
“I can only promise to do that if you promise that you will come to me if your urges to do this again become overwhelming. I'm not happy to let you walk out of this room and know that you will just do it again, without seeking help.”  
“Where would I get help?” Ron let out a bitter laugh. “From my mum? 'Don't be silly, Ronnie. You're not depressed. Now do the washing up.' My brothers? They'd just laugh at me.”  
“I don't think anyone who had found you last night would have been laughing, Ron. They would have been devastated, as I was.”  
“Why do you care?” Ron insisted. “I'm nothing to you.”  
  
Remus hesitated before he answered. His mind replied silently and almost instantaneously – 'because you are everything to Harry.' But a mention of Harry might just send Ron flying off the edge. No, Harry could not be anything to do with the reason Remus cared about Ron Weasley.  
  
“Because you're a good, kind person whom I have lived with for only a matter of weeks. Despite that short amount of time, I care about you. I would never want to find my worst enemy as I found you last night, let alone a young man who I find funny and engaging, whom I feel I have at the very least a rapport with, and at best a burgeoning form of friendship.”  
  
Ron sighed and pulled his wrist free from Remus' grip. He looked down at the cuts.  
  
“Will you help me hide them?” He asked softly, making fists with his hands so that the cuts threatened to burst again.  
“I can teach you a glamour for them,” Remus offered. “But not now. My magic is weak at the minute and I haven't got the energy. I'm sorry. Can you wear a long-sleeved top?”  
“They might see.” Fear had made Ron's eyes wide again.  
  
Remus sighed and reached up to rub at his eyes. “There's only one other person in this house who isn't a member of your family. If I swear him to secrecy, will you trust him to put the glamour in place for now, and I will teach you when I'm better?”  
“Sirius?” Ron looked like he wanted to say no, but he was between a rock and a hard place. “Yeah... Okay. I guess.”  
“Sirius is more acquainted with this whole situation than he'd probably like because of me. He'll be respectful and will hold his tongue if I tell him to.”  
  
Ron nodded glumly, giving permission.  
  
Remus squeezed the redhead's shoulder, and got to his feet.  
  
***  
  
Dinner that night was a quiet affair. Arthur and Bill were working. Fred and George were hiding somewhere in the house doing Merlin-only-knew what. Ginny, Hermione and Ron were eating dinner with them. The girls were making small talk, Ron was pretending to listen and steadily making his way through his plate. Remus couldn't help but watch him, knowing that his worried eyes were probably a give away. Molly was too busy berating Sirius to notice, however, and Remus was glad.  
  
With his plate empty, he stopped and limped his way to the sink. He rinsed off the Black family-crested china and put it down, ready for Molly’s usual mass washing up after everyone had finished. Nobody paid him any attention as he slid from the room, wincing and longing for relief all the way into the front parlour. He didn't care what any of them might have thought as he poured himself a large measure of whisky from the crystal decanter that Sirius kept stocked.  
  
“I bet you need that after the night you had.” Sirius' voice nearly made him drop the glass. “Don't break that, mother dear will be most upset.” He laughed to himself, the mad, acerbic laugh he had developed in Azkaban.  
  
Remus ignored him and knocked back the amber liquid. It burned his throat but warmed all the way down into his belly. Sirius stepped closer, bringing with him his usual scent and a thousand memories.  
  
“Are you seriously not going to tell Molly?”  
“She'd eat him alive,” Remus muttered, shaking his head. “He needs proper help from an impartial party.”  
“The kid's mental,” Sirius protested. “You can't keep Molly and Arthur out of the loop. At least tell Arthur?”  
  
Remus glared at him over the top of his glass. “Oh, and I suppose you called me mental behind my back too, did you? In 1973? And again in 1976?”  
“Remus, that was different... you were my-”  
“I know very well what I was to you. And I was lucky to have you. But Ron has nobody and I'll be damned if I betray his trust now.”  
“And what if you're too late? What if the kid kills himself? I know you, Remus, and I know that your conscience will eat you alive if that happens; that you'll let the guilt tear you apart.”  
“It's a risk I'm willing to take.” Remus shrugged. “If it happens again then we can get someone external involved. But he wants nobody to know and I'm going to respect that for as long as I can. Imagine what it would have done to me if you'd told my parents? How badly I would have coped with the guilt of worrying them?”  
  
Sirius gave an exasperated huff and rolled his eyes. He drifted away, finally throwing himself into a winged back armchair. Remus couldn't help but watch the graceful way that, even after years in Azkaban, his limbs settled into place. A lump rose in his throat.  
  
“Did he even say thank you?” Sirius asked churlishly.  
“Of course he didn't. He probably hates me.” Remus finished the last of his drink. “And that's just fine, as long as he's alive to keep on hating me. And maybe he'll say thank you one day. I eventually thanked you, remember?”  
“Yeah but you thanked me by giving me a blow job on Halloween in 1977.”  
“God, I remember that.”  
“I relived that night over and over in my head in prison.” Sirius smiled to himself. “They tried to take it from me, but I resisted. They weren't having it.”  
“It must have meant a lot to you.”  
“You know it did.”  
  
Sirius got to his feet and came too close for Remus' comfort. Since his old boyfriend's escape from Prison and the re-entrance of him back into Remus' life, there had only been one night of romantic attachment between them. It had been too much, dredging up the hurt and the betrayal which Remus had thought had been committed. It had been too hard to bury it.  
  
It was obvious that Sirius was desperate to re-kindle their love and that, crucially, for him it had never gone away.  
  
“Is it time, Remus?” he whispered. “Is it time to bury the past and continue with our lives? Have you forgiven me yet?”  
“It's not a question of forgiving.” Remus looked down at the glass in his hand. “It's whether I can bear to fall in love with you again and then lose you, all over again.”  
“I'm not going anywhere.”  
“We've been through a war before, Sirius. Both of us should know the problems with making promises that we can't keep.”  
“Just like you've promised Ron that you won't tell anyone about his death wish?”  
“He's depressed. Stop making it sound like he's a kamikaze delinquent.”  
“Well, he hangs around with Harry, who's like James, and I think you called James that more than once.”  
  
Remus couldn't help the laughter which tumbled out of his mouth. Sirius laughed too, but his face fell serious again. He placed a hand on each of Remus' shoulders.  
  
“Let me support you through this,” he asked. “Let me be there for you as you're there for him, because you know... you know that once you've experienced those thoughts yourself, they never really go away... I don't want his illness triggering you off into a suicidal wreck.”  
“Some people get better,” Remus protested. “Some people turn their lives around.”  
“Those people don't have your history, your curse or your upcoming future.” Sirius shook his head. “Let me love you, Remus. Please. We've wasted enough time.”  
“I don't think I can do it to myself, Sirius. I don't want to go through it all a second time if you leave me.”  
“I won't. I'm not going anywhere. Fuck knows I can't even leave the house at the minute.”  
  
The kiss which was pressed to his forehead was reverent and gentle. Remus exhaled slowly, trying to think of what to do.  
  
A cough from the doorway was an instant reprieve and he pulled back from Sirius.  
  
“Mum wanted me to tell you that Dumbledore's here for the meeting,” Ron said, his voice meek and his expression blank. It was as if he hadn't just stumbled across a moment of intimacy between his best friend's godfather and the man who had saved his life. “I'll go-”  
  
“Ron, wait.” Remus gestured him forward. “This isn't-”  
“It's exactly what it looks like,” Sirius interrupted, reaching for his free hand.  
  
Remus' insides wobbled as their fingers laced together.  
  
“And we'll be here for you whenever you need us,” Sirius continued firmly. “But please don't tell anybody about this. It would just complicate things... and Harry...”  
“I won't tell anyone.” Ron folded his arms over his chest protectively.  
“You must promise that you will come to either one of us if you feel out of control or like you're going to do what you did last night again.” Sirius headed for the door and stopped when he drew level with Ron. “Else we'll sit your parents down and talk this through with them. Understand?”  
“I understand.” Ron looked uncomfortable at Sirius' close proximity to him.  
“Good. I've got to go and welcome our guests.” He pulled a face. “Else Snape'll be rooting through my knicker drawers for a reason to hex me.”  
  
His footsteps faded quickly in the hallway. Remus could hear the rumblings of many voices in the distance.  
  
“I should get in there too,” he said finally. “Are you okay?”  
  
Ron nodded. “Remus...”  
“Ron?” He paused in the doorway.  
“I'm sorry.”  
“For what?”  
“Last night.”  
  
He could have pressed the matter, but chose not to. Ron didn't look in the mood to talk. As Remus made his way to the kitchen for the meeting, he grew saddened at how very alike he and Ron apparently were – that he would apologise for the inconvenience of his death attempt, rather than thanking Remus for saving him.  
  
Remus slipped into the kitchen, glad of the commotion for a distraction. The whole situation had dragged up far too much of the past for him to cope with.  
  
 _-fin-_


End file.
